Treasure
by Teprac S
Summary: An old friend asks Vin to help locate a treasure.


The Magnificent Seven: Treasure

by Jennye Jackman

c 1998

As the sun set, its golden rays fell through the narrow doorway and across the worn and dusty floor of the saloon. Jack looked up from his drink and saw the silhouette of a tall man standing just beyond the swinging doors. Jack's calloused hand snaked towards the Colt revolver at his hip as the stranger pushed the right wing of the door open.

The lanky man stepped through the entry into the subdued lamplight. The tanned leather duster he wore matched the medium brown hair that curled gently and lay on his shoulders. A sawed-off Winchester hung at his hip. Relief swept over Jack's weathered features as he recognized Vin Tanner, fellow buffalo hunter and friend. He stood as Tanner approached the table. "Vin! It's good to see you."

"Good to see you too, Jack," Tanner said, shaking his hand. The fringe on Jack's dark frontier-style jacket danced energetically.

"Have a seat." Jack turned to the barkeeper, saying, "Harv, another round here and one for my friend."

Tanner joined Jack in a toast to the "good old days". The whiskey warmed his insides and removed the dust that had gathered during his three-day ride. "So why am I here, Jack?" Tanner asked, putting his dusty gray hat next to his half-empty glass and pushing his hair back off his brow.

Jack looked hurt. "Vin, I wouldn't have telegraphed and had you ride all this way if it weren't important." Tanner had ridden with Jack Havaland long enough in those early days to be wary of his frequent schemes and plans. Jack lowered his gaze. "Ma passed on this last winter," he said softly.

"Sorry to hear that, she was a good woman," Tanner said sympathetically. His mouth watered slightly as he remembered her wonderful home cooking. It seemed that no matter what time of day that he and Jack came in from the range, there was a hot meal on the table and plenty of coffee waiting. To this day he still used some of her tricks to make his trail rations more palatable.

Her neatly kept four-room home always smelled of fresh bread and roses. He had been told her given name once but everyone, old and young alike, called her mom. It was the way she preferred it. Tanner picked up his glass in salute to her memory. "Mom."

Jack picked up his glass and they drank. After a moment of silence Jack asked, "You got a room yet?"

"Yes."

Jack looked toward the door. He studied the three men who entered intently. He glanced around the room and leaned forward. His voice was low as he said, "We should talk there."

Tanner's brow raised slightly. "Room eight."

"I'll meet you in an hour," Jack whispered as he rose from his chair. He flipped a coin to the barkeeper, took up his own worn black hat, and started toward the door. Tanner noted that Jack's limp had gotten more pronounced in the years since he had last seen him.

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Tanner hung his hat and duster on the coat tree. The yellow glow from the lamp gave the room a warm, homey feeling. He crossed the dusty carpet and hung his gunbelt over the corner of headboard. Tanner sat on the quilt covered bed and was pleasantly surprised when it didn't squeak. The pillow was firm but not lumpy, he decided, as he fluffed it in preparation to stretching out.

There was a soft knock at the door a few minutes later. "Vin? You there?" Tanner recognized Jack's rusty voice and stood to open the door. Jack entered the room and turned to look both ways down the corridor before he shut the door.

"So, what's the game this time?" Tanner asked as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Jack pulled up a ladder back chair and sat in it backwards, his arms resting on the carved back. His bad leg stretched out at an angle. "Ma inherited a mine from my aunt, Josette Leann," Jack said without preamble.

"A mine?"

"Yes."

"What kind?"

"Don't know exactly. The letter she showed me said that it was filled with treasure. Bein' in poor health, Ma asked me to look into it for her. Winter hit early up there and she was gone b'fore I could leave," Jack said somberly.

"Why me?"

"Ma remembered all that trouble that you went through for me. Remember that knot-headed mustang that busted me up?"

Tanner shrugged noncommittally. He clearly remembered the mustang that had taken offence at their rounding up his harem. The dappled gray stallion had charged, knocking Jack from his horse. Jack's left leg was broken in several places before he could chase the horse off. It ended up being a very long day.

"She said that you would appreciate the treasure for what it was. Asked that I share it with you," Jack continued. He paused and smiled widely. "Hey, treasure is treasure, right?" he asked, slapping Tanner's arm. Tanner's brow raised slightly as he studied his hands for a moment longer, then looked up as Jack asked, "You will come with me, won't you? ... For Ma?"

Jack sounded and looked very sincere. That worried Tanner. But why, he wasn't sure. Unless, as usual, there was a large detail being left out. "I'll come," he agreed finally.

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Before he left, Jack had finally admitted that the mine wasn't really his, but that his mother had passed it on to Claire, his daughter. He swore that his mother's inheritance was legal, but the papers that he had had to prove it were stolen from him. He had been given a warning at the time. The warning included a good thrashing to help him remember it.

Tanner blew out the lamp. Jack's story replayed in his mind as he sat down to pull off his boots. Jack indicated that according to Havaland family tradition, the mine was always handed down from mother to daughter or granddaughter. Since Josette Leann's own daughter died of a winter fever, the mine was given to her sister to pass on to Claire. That way the tradition would continue undisrupted after Claire was old enough to have a daughter of her own.

Tanner remembered fondly the last time he had seen the spunky little girl. Her golden hair bouncing in a pair of tight waist-length braids as she ran out greet him at the gate. Her arms full of fresh pulled grasses for his horse and a garland of daises for his hat. She had to be nearly fifteen years old now. His thoughts were interrupted as a shot rang out.

Tanner leapt to his feet, grabbing his gun. He paused at the window, pulling back the lacy curtain. His teeth clenched tight as he recognized Jack sprawled in the street below.

Quickly stomping back into his boots, Tanner hurried out the door. A crowd had gathered in the street by the time Tanner reached the scene. He pressed through the gathered crowd to Jack's side. "Get the doctor!" someone shouted as Tanner knelt beside his friend. He tried to staunch the blood flowing from the left side of Jack's chest with his bandanna.

"Vin," Jack said softly. His lips were tinged with red.

"Don't talk, save your strength."

Jack grabbed Tanner by the shirt and pulled him closer. "West of Jacob's Crossing, a day's ride due south of the twin pines, in the shadow of the buffalo rock. Find it ... for Claire, please."

"I will," Tanner promised.

The grip on his shirt weakened as Jack slowly went limp in his arms. Tanner looked up at the sky briefly, then lowered his head.

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A pair of rangy-looking cowboys stood outside the cemetery fence. The smaller of the two removed a well- chewed stick from the corner of his mouth and whispered to his partner, "Ma shouldn't have given grandma's mine to her sister. It should have been ours."

Hezekiah scratched at the corner of his black moustache and said softly, "Shut up, Kyle."

"Hez, I can take him," Kyle persisted.

"No, we wait. You've already caused enough trouble by killing Cousin Jack before we found out what he knew about the mine. Now we need to know what he told that fellah last night," Hezekiah said, nodding in Tanner's direction. His hand dropped down to rest on the grip of his gun. "... and to do that we need to know where he's going from here. Then we can ask him ... quiet and uninterrupted." Together they turned and walked easily back towards town.

Tanner stood beside Jack's grave, his hat in hand. The faint breeze tossed his hair as the aged preacher spoke over Jack's remains. He didn't really hear what the man had to say as he thought about Claire. He was pretty sure where to find her, but he wondered if she would even remember him. Tanner was brought back to the present as the preacher said somberly, "Amen."

The smattering of onlookers that had gathered slowly left the grave-side, returning to their daily business. Tanner waited until the last shovel of dirt was tamped into place, put on his hat, then strode across the graveyard to his horse. He rode back into town, stopping at the telegraph office.

Tanner noted a mustached cowboy enter the telegraph office behind him. The man picked up a piece of paper and a pencil from the counter,then stood off to the side to compose his own telegram. Tanner turned his attention to his own paper and jotted down the short message. He handed the message to the telegraph operator along with his two-bits.

Hezekiah turned his paper over as the telegraph operator began to send Tanner's message. He carefully wrote down the message being sent.

**C Larabee. Four Corners.**

**On my way back. VT.**

A moment later, the telegraph operator returned to the counter. "There you go sir," he said handing the message and a receipt to Tanner. "Will you be expecting a response?"

Vin tucked the papers in his pocket. "No. Thanks." He touched the brim of his hat and turned to leave. Tanner closed the door behind him as the telegrapher turned his attention shifted to his remaining patron.

"Can I help you, sir?"

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Tanner chose to ride back to Four Corners along the stage route. It was nearly noon when he heard the stage coach hurrying along the dusty road behind him. He moved off the track to allow the stage to pass by. Tanner waved to the stage driver, who nodded as he glanced around suspiciously.

Sometime later Tanner noticed his horse's ears flick forward nervously, in the direction of a large fall of rocks. He looked but couldn't see what had gotten the horse's attention. He tapped his horses sides lightly and stepped up their pace.

He hadn't heard any commotion from in front of him. But it was possible that the stage had been held up at the gap. Tanner rounded the corner and found the road was clear. He looked around suspiciously and wasn't entirely surprised when a shotgun wielding Mexican stepped out from behind a stage-sized boulder a moment later. Tanner charged the man, kicking the shotgun aside as he passed. A loose lariat loop fell over his head as the shotgun hit the ground, discharging harmlessly.

Tanner slipped the lariat over his saddle horn and, as the rope went taught, heard a surprised yelp behind him. The rope went slack, and he tossed it aside. Looking over his shoulder, Tanner saw his red-shirted ambushers were mounting up to give chase. He heard shouts in Spanish behind him as he gave his horse its head. They went down the road at a full gallop.

When Tanner felt his lead was large enough, he took a narrow rocky trail that led to higher ground. As soon as he reached the top of the rocky rise, he found a thick knot of brush and dismounted. With his spy-glass he looked for signs of pursuit in the valley below. He was surprised when he saw the men riding away. He questioned the fact that they had so easily given up the chase.

Tanner briefly wondered if the duo were trying for the bounty on his head or were after him for some other reason. He shrugged and went back to his sweating horse, who was busily tearing up clumps of winter-dried grass.

He removed his canteen from where it hung over the saddle horn and took two big swallows. His horse shoved his arm. The buffalo hunter removed his hat and filled it with the remaining water. He knew of several watering holes where he could easily replenish his supply.

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Kyle tossed down a glass of whisky and stood up from the table. Hezekiah looked up. "You keep jumping around and someone's bound to notice," he said softly.

"He's late, should'a been here by now."

"Could have gone a different way after those peso's you hired, failed to take him at the gap. Relax we know where he's headed."

"I'm going to get some air," Kyle growled, jamming his hat down on his head. He stalked out of the saloon. Hezekiah watched the batwing doors swing slowly to a stop. He shook his head and poured another shot from the bottle.

He sipped the amber liquor slowly as he listened to the sounds of the saloon and studied the patrons. After a while he heard a commotion outside. He tugged on his watch fob, pulling a silver watch from its pocket. The black-hands behind the cracked crystal told him that the late stage had arrived.

Hezekiah finished his drink and stood slowly. He slicked back his hair and settled his hat into place. There was an influx of stage passengers into the saloon, eager for refreshment. He held the door open for some of the ladies and then exited into the darkness.

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Kyle stood as he heard the sounds of a horse plodding down the quiet, moon-lit main street of Willow Creek. From the shadows between two buildings he watched the incoming rider until he was sure of the rider's identity. "There you are. It's about time," Kyle said softly as he raised his Winchester rifle.

Kyle drew a bead on Tanner as he rode towards the hotel. He took a steadying breath and slowly squeezed the trigger. The barrel of the rifle went up suddenly just as the hammer fell. Kyle started. "What," Kyle asked in surprise as he turned angrily toward the man who had spoiled his shot.

"You idiot," Hezekiah hissed. Kyle's eyes went wide in amazement as Hezekiah's Bowie knife slid easily between his ribs. "You could have been rich."

Hezekiah turned in time to see Tanner fall from his horse. Tanner lay unmoving in the street. As still as Kyle who lay at his feet. Hezekiah sincerely hoped that his brother hadn't killed him outright.

Lamps and candles began flickering to life throughout the buildings that lined the narrow street. Hezekiah took a chance and dashed out to check on Tanner, then he retreated into the dark shadows on the other side of the street.

Well armed townspeople began emerging from the surrounding buildings only moments later, the sheriff among them. "What happened?" someone asked through the murmuring of the growing crowd.

"Let me through!" a voice from the fringes shouted. The crowd parted admitting an overweight balding man, wearing a half tucked night shirt. He knelt at the fallen rider's side. The doctor gently rolled the fallen rider onto his back and put an ear to his chest, listening.

"Quiet!" the doctor said loudly and, as the crowd quieted down, listened again. The doctor raised up and quickly ran his skillful hands down the unconscious man's arms and legs checking for broken bones and other obvious injuries. The doctor's manner changed abruptly as his hand emerged bloody from beneath the left side of the man's head.

"Get him to my office, now," he ordered. From somewhere a red and black Hudsons Bay blanket appeared. It was laid out and the unconscious stranger lifted carefully onto it. Four burley men took up the corners of the thick wool blanket and headed down the street toward the doctor's office.

A shrill scream pierced the night. The sheriff turned to see a woman at the far edge of the crowd in a nightgown, her hands covering her mouth and her eyes wide.

The woman's oil lantern had fallen to the ground and broken in the street. The sheriff calmly strode to her side and began kicking dirt over the oily flames. It was then that he noticed the body in the alley. The man lay in a pool of blood that was clearly visible in the light of the dying flames.

The sheriff called for more lanterns and finished putting out the flames. He studied the lamp-lit alleyway and found that the man had been stabbed. Picking up the fallen Winchester rifle, he jacked the lever and ejected the still warm, spent cartridge. He sniffed it, the smell of gun powder was strong. The sheriff put the cartridge in the front pocket of his vest.

Laying the gun over the crook of his left elbow, he directed a few of the men who had remained to take the body over to the undertaker's shop. He turned back to the dwindling crowd that remained in the street. "It's all over, folks," he declared. "Go on back to your homes."

As they dispersed back to their homes, he saw a sleepy young man walking toward him, leading a tired horse. "This is the stranger's horse, Sheriff Johanson. What should I do with it?"

The sheriff removed the saddle bags and said, "Cool him down. Then take him over to McGilvary's livery."

"Yes sir."

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The sheriff walked up the worn stairs of the hotel to the second floor. He met the doctor as he exited room six, where injured stranger had been placed. The man looked rumpled and apparently had gotten no sleep. "Good morning, Doc."

"Sheriff."

"How's your patient?"

"Lucky. If the bullet had been an inch further over you wouldn't need to ask." The doctor yawned. "He's got a nasty crease in his skull," the doctor said, indicating a point above his left ear. "Took a few stitches to close up. He'll live, providing he wakes up. Any idea who he is?"

"Nope. He was traveling light and apparently in a hurry, judging by the condition of his horse. There was twenty dollars, some hardtack, dried meat and other personal items in the saddle bags, but nothing to help identify him," the sheriff said matter-of-factly. "I'd like to go through his clothing. Maybe there's something there."

"Miss Dottie is going to be keeping an eye on him this morning while I get some much needed sleep. She's cleaning him up right now. You might give her a minute to finish up."

"Sleep well, Doc."

"Thanks," the doctor mumbled as he made his way down the stairs. The sheriff sat on the thinly padded settee to read the local paper and wait. It wasn't long before Miss Dottie opened the door.

He looked up from the paper as Miss Dottie stepped lightly into the hallway. Her floor-length, pale blue gingham dress was covered from her narrow waist down with a bright white apron. Her long silver-gold hair was bundled loosely atop her head in a bun. She set an oak bucket, filled with water and floating blobs of soap bubbles, down beside the door.

"Good morning, Sheriff," she said softly, as she pushed a wandering lock of hair back with her hand.

He set the paper aside, stood, and removed his hat. "Good morning, Miss Dottie."

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The sun slowly crept across the raised porch of the opera house. It reached the tips Ezra's shiny black boots as he turned to the back page of the Four Corner's paper, The Clarion News. He heard a young voice down the street calling for Chris Larabee. Looking up, the gambler saw the telegraph operator's son running down the street. "Mr. Standish, have ya seen Mr. Larabee?" the boy asked breathlessly.

"He's inside, son. What's the rush?" he asked folding the newspaper neatly in half and set it on the rail.

"Someone has been shot," the boy said as he held out the telegram.

Ezra took the neatly printed page and read. His face paled. He couldn't believe his eyes. "Thank you, young man," he said, handing the boy a coin. "I'll see that Mr. Larabee gets this message."

"Yes, sir."

Ezra stood and took the message inside. From the doorway he could see Chris Larabee, unofficial leader of the seven, in his usual corner near the bar. The cup on the table steamed with freshly poured coffee. Ezra crossed the dusty floor heading toward Chris, out of habit his eyes paused on the poker table in the opposite corner; it was empty, the cards untouched.

"Chris," Ezra said, as he put the telegram down in front of Larabee. "You need to look at this."

Larabee's eyes widened as he read:

**Mr. C Larabee. Four Corners.**

**Please come to Willow Creek. A man carrying a telegram with your name on it was shot last night. The telegram sender's initials were V.T. The man's identity is unknown. **

**Sheriff Johanson.**

Chris Larabee looked up at Ezra who was loosening his red cravat. "Go find Nathan and Josiah," he said, standing.

"What about Buck and J.D.?"

"I know where they are."

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Chris reigned in under a sprawling oak tree and tied his horse next to Buck's grey and J.D.'s brown. He could hear sporadic gunfire and laughter just over the rise. He strode to the top and looked down on Buck and J.D. who were shooting at the remains of a defenseless bean can.

It appeared that they were missing the can until he saw just how many holes were in the can. There was a pause as they began to reload. Chris cleared his throat. "Buck, J.D., saddle up. We're headed for Willow Creek," He announced loudly and strode back to his horse. Not waiting to see if they would follow.

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Nathan and Josiah weren't hard to find. Ezra just followed the sounds of hammering to the church. He looked up to see Nathan hanging from the bell tower with a bucket of white wash in one hand and a brush in the other. Josiah was securing the shutter's hinges on the other side with nails.

"Mister Jackson. Mister Sanchez." Ezra said loudly to get their attention. "May I speak with you gentlemen down here on the porch, where I won't get a crick in my neck. It's important."

Nathan leaned around the corner and asked Josiah, "Another poker game?" Remembering their last important talk with Ezra.

Josiah looked down on Ezra as he looked up, his eyes shaded against the intense sun. He could see the guarded worry in his features. "No, it's more important than poker."

Josiah gave Nathan a hand back inside the bell tower. When they emerged from the church a few minutes later, Ezra said gravely, "Gentlemen. It would seem that Mister Tanner has gotten himself into some trouble in Willow Creek."

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"Sheriff Johanson says this man's to have no visitors," Miss Dottie said sternly as she looked up at Chris Larabee.

"Ma'am, I received a telegram yesterday morning from the sheriff saying a man carrying a telegram with my name on it had been shot. I came to help identify him," Larabee explained, keeping his voice low in the hotel's narrow corridor.

She frowned as she studied him, with one fist planted firmly on her right hip. She didn't trust Larabee's dark appearance and hard features, but there was something in his blue eyes that spoke of honest concern for the wounded man. "Okay," she agreed reluctantly.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"... But you leave that with me," she said firmly, indicating the holstered six-gun that hung low on his right hip.

Larabee handed her the weapon butt-first. She took it by the ivory grip with two fingers, holding it out like a dead animal. He tipped his hat and went to the door of room six. He turned the knob slowly and opened the door far enough to be sure that the man he saw was indeed his friend Vin Tanner. Larabee closed the door as quietly as he had opened it.

He started as Miss Dottie, who was now standing right next to him, asked softly, "Is he someone you know?"

"Yes ma'am," he said, accepting the gun and slipping it back into the holster.

"What's his name?"

"Vin ... Vin Tanner."

"Never heard of him."

"No reason for you to have, ma'am," he said, tipping his hat. He went to find the others.

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Tanner woke to a splitting headache. He looked around the dimly lit room. He was relieved when he saw Nathan dozing in a chair leaned against the door. Tanner carefully sat up, biting his lip against the pain. He pushed back the thickly layered blankets, until he could swing his legs off the bed. Standing, Tanner adjusted his long-handles slightly.

He leaned against the four-drawer dresser as a sudden wave of dizziness joined the loud rhythmic pounding inside his skull. "You should stay down for a while yet," the black healer said softly as he tipped his chair forward onto all four legs. There was underlying concern evident in his tone.

Tanner's grip tightened on the dresser. "Don't .. do ... that," he said stiffly, recovering from the start Nathan had given him.

"Didn't mean to."

Gingerly Tanner sat down on the bed. "That's all right. When did you get in?"

"Yesterday afternoon."

Tanner's stomach growled. He swallowed and realized just how hungry and thirsty he was. "Sure could use a drink and something to eat."

"That's a good sign," Nathan said as he rose to pour Tanner a glass of water from the pitcher on the table by the window. As Tanner drank the cool water, Nathan said, "I'll send down for something."

He went to the door and spoke quietly to someone out in the hall. When he returned to Tanner's bedside he said, "Breakfast will be coming up in a little while."

Tanner handed the glass back and leaned against the pillows, "That's good."

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Tanner woke with a start, not realizing that he had drifted back to sleep. The sun was higher outside the window. Nathan opened the door to admit Miss Dottie bearing a tray of hot food.

As Tanner began to eat, there was another knock at the door. The sheriff entered the room, followed closely by the others. "Mr. Tanner, I'm Sheriff Johanson," the weathered man said, extending his hand. They shook hands. "It's good to see you up and around. We thought for a while ..." Johanson paused and changed subjects abruptly. "Do you know this man?" he asked, handing Tanner a photograph.

Tanner looked at the dead man. He appeared to be middle-aged, clean shaven, and reasonably well dressed, but Tanner didn't recognize him. "I've never seen this man before, Sheriff," he said, handing the photograph to Chris. The photo was handed around the room and finally back to the sheriff.

"The evidence I found the night you were shot, indicates that this was the man who pulled the trigger. Although we still have no clues as to his identity, or that of the person who killed him shortly after the shot was fired. Do you have any idea why he would have been gunning for you?"

Several ideas immediately popped into Tanner's mind, not the least of which was the bounty on his head. "Nothing that comes to mind," he replied. "Has anyone come forward to make the arrangements?"

"Not yet, but he had enough money on him for a decent burial. If no one comes forward we'll keep his possessions for six months. I guess they will become yours after that."

"Bad luck," Ezra said under his breath, but Tanner heard him.

Tanner thought about having the sheriff send the money to Claire, because he was suspected that the dead man was one of the men who killed her father. But that action would raise even more questions in the sheriff's mind. "Sell them and give the money to the church," he said finally. Josiah smiled.

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"That's what Jack told me before he was killed," Tanner finished.

Chris noted Tanner had grown pale as he told them of his last couple of days and resisted the urge to reach out as he swayed slightly. "Lay back and rest," Larabee told him sternly. "You need to be clear headed when we ride out. Besides, I want to see if we can figure out who killed the guy who was gunning for you."

"The killer is probably long gone by now," Tanner said, settling back on the pillows.

Larabee smiled slightly, "We'll see."

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Tanner wiped the sweat from his brow. Nathan pulled up along side of him. "You okay?"

"My head's pounding again but I'll be okay. Just need a minute."

Nathan looked along their back trail. "So far, so good," he said. "I think that we can hold back for a while. I wonder if the others found out anything after we left?"

"We'll find out when we meet up at Jacob's Crossing, but I don't think there'll be anything to find," Tanner said before taking a drink from his canteen. "There's a good chance that the killer's already ahead of us. The question now is where and when we'll meet again."

They arrived a few hours later at the small, tree-shaded log cabin that marked the eastern bank of Jacob's Crossing. They could see the ferry on the other side, being loaded for the return trip. They dismounted, watered their horses, then took seats on the porch in the shade to wait.

The duo watched as a large cargo wagon eased onboard. A rider on a paint pony rode up to the dock in a great hurry. The rider's impatience with the loading process was evident in his manner. Tanner smiled and indicating the rider said, "He's goin' in."

Nathan watched for a moment. The rider's actions didn't appear to indicate he was going to cross before the ferry was ready to leave. "I don't thing so."

"Bet?"

"Okay,"

"Loser cooks breakfast."

"Deal," Nathan said eagerly. Having eaten several of Tanner's meals, Nathan knew that he would not be disappointed.

The rider urged his horse onto the ferry next to the wagon almost before the loading crew had finished securing the wagon obviously ignoring the advice of the more experienced ferry riders.

The nervous horse side-stepped as the rider rose to dismount. When the rider put his boot down he realized he was beyond the edge of the ferry. The saddle slipped slightly and the overbalanced rider went into the water with, as far as Tanner was concerned, a satisfying splash. "Steak and eggs."

"Ezra's corrupting you," Nathan said. Tanner only smiled.

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Nathan stood on the rutted roadway. He shaded his eyes with a hand as he watched five riders crest the far rise. He immediately recognized Buck's gray horse and waved.

Within a few minutes the seven were reunited. Tanner remained where he sat on the porch, resting with his feet up on the rail. "Find anything?" he asked.

"Nothing helpful," Chris said as he stepped down from his saddle.

"Not true," J.D., the youngest of the seven, said. A wide knowing grin crossed his face as he looked over at Buck. His hat went flying a moment later from a quick swat from Buck's left hand as the groups lady's man feigned offence at the insinuation.

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Tanner had occasionally checked their direction of travel by judging the shadows. He was impressed at the accuracy of Jack's vague directions as he studied the rock escarpment ahead of them. The setting sun had produced a shadow that fell behind a large nondescript rock, giving it the form of a buffalo. He pointed the rock out to the others.

"Vin, does it strike you as odd that there has been so much killing over an inactive mine?" Chris asked as they continued to ride.

"Not really. The word mine brings a certain picture to mind."

"That is true," Ezra said, wiping his brow with a now limp and dusty handkerchief.

"Something Jack told me made me suspect that it isn't a traditional mine. In fact, I'd bet," Tanner said, looking at Ezra, "that it started out as a mine but no useful minerals were found."

Buck ran his finger under his moustache and said, "That makes sense."

"What kind of treasure could it be if it's not worth anything?" J.D. asked, his confusion obvious.

"We'll soon find out," Nathan told him.

They rode slowly toward the buffalo rock. When they were within a dozen yards a shot rang out. Tanner's brown horse reared as the bullet kicked up dirt at its feet. Tanner dropped heavily from the saddle. He groaned and grabbed his head. Nathan was beside him a moment later. "You hit?"

"No," Tanner replied after a second.

Before they could move a voice from behind the rock bellowed, "Clear off!" The voice was followed by a tall, mustached cowboy as he stepped out from behind the buffalo rock. His Sharps rifle, held in both hands near his hip, was leveled on Tanner. "Clear off! This is my land."

Tanner recognized him as the man he had seen in the Green Valley telegraph office. "And you are?" Tanner asked standing with Nathan's help.

"Never you mind. Now ride off," the cowboy insisted, pointing with the barrel of his rifle in the direction that they had come from.

"This mine belongs to Claire Havaland," Tanner declared unequivocally.

The Sharps-wielding man stiffened slightly and his eyes narrowed. "Never heard of her," Hezekiah said firmly. "Now get off my property!"

Although Tanner knew the man was lying, he didn't push the issue. "I think I'll have the law look into this. Good day," Tanner said, moving carefully he lay a finger on the brim of his hat. He mounted his horse and turned to go back the way they had come. He sensed the man raise his weapon. Tanner heard the whine of a passing bullet, a grunt of pain followed by the loud report of a rifle.

Before the man could raise up from where the bullet had thrown him, he found himself looking down six deadly gun barrels. "You really shouldn't have done that," Ezra said from behind his own sleeve gun.

Nathan and Buck were off their horses a moment later, Buck disarming the cowboy and Nathan checking his shoulder wound. They turned as Josiah rode up to the group, Tanners' buffalo rifle laid across his saddle. "Guess you were right. There are snakes in these rocks," Josiah said with a smile.

Tanner shrugged and got down from his horse once more. "Shall we see what this mysterious treasure is?" he asked as he started around the rock.

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With Josiah's help, Buck shoved the last of the fallen boulders back inside the mine's entrance and stepped aside. Tanner climbed up to the dark opening and squirmed partway inside.

Ezra lit one of the torches Hezekiah had brought with him and handed it to Tanner as he turned to receive it. The group could hear rocks falling as he slipped and slid deeper inside the tunnel.

"Mr. Tanner?" Ezra called after a tense few minutes where he didn't hear anything. "You all right?"

"I'm fine." Tanners voice echoed strangely back to them. "Come on in.

The increased light of the others torches set the thousands of amethyst crystals glowing. It was like stepping into the heart of a geode. The crystals held thousands of shades of purple that changed in the flickering light.

"Truly a treasure," Tanner said appreciatively.

"Amen," agreed Josiah.

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The heavy wooden door opened slowly. Tanner took off his hat. "Claire Havaland?" he asked the blue eyed young woman who peered at him.

The door flew open and Tanner found himself receiving an enthusiastic hug. "Vin!"

After a moment he set her down and held her hands gently. "Claire," Tanner started hesitantly. There was an awkward pause before he continued, "I got some bad news and I got some good news."

The end


End file.
